


Bathtubs and Trust Issues

by domini_moonbeam



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Getting to Know Each Other, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-23
Updated: 2020-07-23
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:40:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25460257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/domini_moonbeam/pseuds/domini_moonbeam
Summary: Beginning of their relationship, ditching the war, and a misunderstanding interrupts bath time.-Nicolo bared his teeth and Yusuf stopped his advance, noticing the way he held the hilt of that dagger. He was prepared to use it, not casually for fun but out of offense. Of course, it would not end him. But that didn’t matter. They had stopped hurting each other. It would break some peace between them now and he did not believe for a second that Nicolo would do it without cause. “You really bartered with my skin?” he demanded, trying to just sound angry but Yusuf heard the hurt there.
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 66
Kudos: 1140





	Bathtubs and Trust Issues

“Your friend said you would pay.”

Nicolo raised an eyebrow at this, glanced down at himself, naked in a tub of hot water, and then back at the man that had just walked into his room at this hotel. Nicolo and _his friend_ , had come here to clean up and wait for a ship to take them as far from this war as possible. They had come to the agreement simultaneously, after almost fifty years of trying to kill each other—who never stayed dead—and trying to win a war that never ended, that enough was enough.

They had agreed not to do each other any more harm, to work together, as it seemed fate had already decided for them. Not to mention the perk of no longer dreaming about one another. After fifty years, his sleep was finally, more or less, quiet. And despite being butchered by Yusuf more than a few times, he actually liked him.

Yusuf had been the one to make arrangements with the proprietor of this hotel. Nicolo only recognized him at all, because he was now standing in his room.

Was it custom to ask for a bill when a man had nothing on? “Fine. How much?”

Nicolo raised both eyebrows when the man grinned and started opening his pants, shuffling forward eagerly. So, that had been a lecherous look after all.

Nicolo di Genova stood from the bath, stepping out and thinking nothing of the puddles he made. He walked toward the man rather than away. He was much larger than Nicolo. Plenty of men were. He didn’t bother going for his clothing or even his weapons. He walked up and punched the man in the face, knocking him right back and into the closed door. He would have gladly hit him again, if he hadn’t slumped down to his ass and let out a pathetic whine.

Nicolo sneered and grabbed a robe, pulling it on. It was light and clung to his wet skin. He belted it quickly. He almost grabbed his sword, but this place was close quarters. He took a dagger instead. It seemed more intimate and he _was_ mostly naked after all. He shot the owner of the establishment a hard glare, the man cradling his broken nose and struggling to his feet. He choked back a scream at the sight of the knife and fumbled with the door to escape.

Nicolo used another side door into a common area of their flat and then another into what he suspected would be Yusuf’s room, unless he had set him up for whatever this was and fled.

His bare feet padded silently across the floor. He threw open the doors and marched right into Yusuf’s room. If he saw it on his face, surprise or guilt, he’d throw the dagger right through his eye.

* * *

Yusuf had his shirt and boots off and was working on the front of his pants when his doors flew open. If he had not been infatuated with this man before, he was now. He was damp and wearing only a silk robe, the fabric barely clinging to one shoulder. He’d shaved his face and his wet hair was pushed back. He was barefoot and holding a very wicked looking dagger.

“Something wrong with your own tub?” he asked in Arabic. If this was Nicolo’s way of propositioning him, he would not argue customs.

Nicolo paused, either not understanding or confused by the question. He glanced once at the tub in Yusuf’s room, filled with hot water, and then at him again. He was obviously livid over something. Even as poised and quiet-natured as he was, Yusuf could not imagine not being able to read his every mood. It was right there, in the seething ocean of his eyes. “Did you mean it as a joke then?” Nicolo asked, using Yusuf’s tongue. It was either an effort at curtesy, as usual between them, or an effort to be understood clearly—which they had both done when clarity was important.

This was serious.

Yusuf’s brows creased. “What joke?” He spoke in Italian and chanced a step closer.

Nicolo bared his teeth and Yusuf stopped his advance, noticing the way he held the hilt of that dagger. He was prepared to use it, not casually for fun but out of offense. Of course, it would not end him. But that didn’t matter. They had stopped hurting each other. It would break some peace between them now and he did not believe for a second that Nicolo would do it without cause. “You really bartered with my skin?” he demanded, trying to just sound angry but Yusuf heard the hurt there.

Of course, it was hard to hear over his own confusion and anger. He held up both hands, palms forward in a universal gesture of surrender. “Wait.”

“Were you selling me or using me to pay a bill?” Nicolo pressed, sliding into Italian and talking fast. “What possessed you to think I would surrender either way?” his voice rose. His temper was beautiful. He did not flail his arms about, because if he moved that arm now it would end something between them forever. And some part of Yusuf, a part he would think on later, reveled in all the meaning behind that. Nicolo did not want to end them, hesitating even when he was led to think the worst.

“Wait,” he tried again and took another step forward. The flare of those blue eyes told him it was bold—told him he was close to the limit. “Speak clearly and slowly. I do not think I understand.”

Nicolo bared his teeth and then nodded tightly. “The owner dropped by my room while I was bathing,” he said as clearly and slowly as possible, but in Italian. He was too angry to think in another language anymore. “He said you told him that I would settle the bill. And then he proceeded to open his pants.”

Yusuf hung on those words, and then wished he could hang someone else with them. _“Son of a whore!”_ He wanted to storm out of his room and go find the man, but the Italian was still standing just inside his doors and those eyes were drinking in his ever reaction. The full gravity of Nicolo’s seemingly nonsensical questions hit him full force and momentarily knocked the need for vengeance back.

What they had growing between them was decades in the making, built on fate and want and hope but not trust. That was not something they had earned yet, something being offered in small doses and tested with their agreement not to do the other any harm.

So, he stayed still under that gaze and he stared back, hands dropping slowly back to his sides. “I did not trade you or sell you,” he said it clearly, in Italian. “Nor would I imagine you going along with any such thing.” He was humbled by how those shoulders eased back and those fingers relaxed their grip on the dagger. He believed him. Just like that. Nicolo watched him for another second before sighing and nodding once. He looked around, realizing he’d stormed into Yusuf’s bedroom for nothing, and then turned to leave.

“Wait,” Yusuf called and when the man did, he walked closer. He moved slowly, in case Nicolo tensed with distrust, but he didn’t—like it was forgiven and forgotten. Amazing. His word had really been enough. So, there was at least some trust formed between them already. He considered Nicolo, hoping this wouldn’t be the only time he saw him in a sloppily tied robe in their lives.

He reached out and touched Nicolo’s hand, lifting it between them so that they both looked at the blood smear on his knuckles. “His or yours?”

Nicolo smirked, cocky and gorgeous.

Yusuf used his thumb to wipe at the blood, an excuse to touch his skin and they both knew it. He reveled in how Nicolo’s eyes lingered on the gesture, the last of the tension in him easing back. “Still. I am sorry.”

Nicolo took his hand from him and snorted. “Do not apologize unless you did something.” He turned for the door again. “And I do not need you to look after me.” He left on that, and Yusuf let his gaze collect the image of that robe lining the backs of his thighs.

No. Nicolo did not need to be protected. He was amazing. Still, Yusuf went quietly downstairs to have his own talk with the owner of the hotel.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on [tumblr](https://dominimoonbeam.tumblr.com/search/domini%20boombeam)! If you have an Old Guard prompt, I'm all ears!


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